


After-School Special

by headbuttingbears



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Come Eating, F/M, Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teen Angst, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 14:03:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12170358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headbuttingbears/pseuds/headbuttingbears
Summary: "Do you think about Miss Stacy often, Peter?" | Peter has angst, and Curt's more than willing to listen to him... unload.





	After-School Special

**Author's Note:**

> I suppose this exists in a kind of loosely thought-out universe where Peter became Spider-Man but the serum didn't work on Connors so no Lizard??? Honestly who cares, you can't tell me Connors didn't spend almost every interaction with Peter in the movie looking like he wanted to eat him. It's not possible. So yeah, this is just porn, it has no real point.
> 
> As always, blame Jenny for encouraging me. Not to write this, for once, just to post it.

"Here, sit down and tell me what the problem is," Curt said, waving his hand towards the couch in his office. One he'd collapsed onto plenty of times when work went late and there was no one left around to judge him for sleeping at the lab for the fifth night in a row.

There wasn't anyone around to witness Peter dropping onto it with a familiar weariness while Curt shut the door. "Sorry, I know it's late-"

"Never mind that. What's troubling you?" he asked, dragging over a chair to sit before him. "You weren't at all clear on the phone."

"It's just..." Peter sighed the kind of heavy sigh only a hopeless teenager could manage, pushing his hands through his hair. "School, and college, and... extracurriculars. I don't have enough, I don't have any really, and my aunt hasn't said anything but I can tell she wants to, she's just working her way around to it, but I'm not good at high school stuff-"  
  
Curt held up his hand, stemming the anxious rush. "We both know that's not true. Your school work is outstanding when you can be bothered to apply yourself." He paused a moment, remembering. "I was much the same, you know. When I was your age I didn't have any extracurriculars either. It was all science for me."  
  
Peter looked up from his consideration of the floor to him, hopeful. "Really?"  
  
"Well, science and girls," Curt admitted. They shared a grin, Peter's bashful. "I think it's the same for you?"  
  
He nodded and shrugged, fidgety. "Y-yeah."  
  
Leaning back in his chair, Curt smoothed his hand over his knee. "I remember being a teenager. It felt like everything was rushing at me, all the time. Everything happening so fast."  
  
"So many expectations," Peter murmured.  
  
Curt hummed in agreement. "Always so much going on. And the stress. I felt... keyed up. All the time. Is that how it is for you?"  
  
His head dropped forward again before that helpless shrug and nod combo made a second appearance. "Yeah."  
  
"You're in what, twelfth grade?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"That's a rough year. Not quite an adult yet, not truly a child anymore. People treating you like one when you only ever want to be the other, and even you don't know which yet. I remember it." Curt gazed down at Peter, at his bowed head and thick hair, his broad shoulders, his awkward fidgeting on the couch. "To be honest, besides science and girls, I spent most of my time trying to ignore the rest of it. Kept my nose in a book and my hand down my pants. Sometimes at the same time, back when I could still multitask in such a fashion."  
  
Peter's laugh was a short, sharp thing, and he looked up from the floor, a little shocked.  
  
"What, not a big reader, Mr. Parker?" Curt said, grinning at him. "I'm surprised."  
  
"N-no I-I like to read. Just I-I like pictures better. I mean photography. I like to take pictures," he said in a rush, face pinking.  
  
"What do you like to take pictures of?" Curt leaned back in his chair. He could be so patient. Endless hours in the lab had given him an inhumane amount of patience.  
  
"Oh, you know, uh, nature?" He screwed up his face, awkward, unsure. "People? Doing... things. People. Stuff for the student newspaper."  
  
"Any particular people?"  
  
Shrugging, Peter wrung his hands. "Jocks, Debate Club, student events, uh... Gwen Stacy." That last said quietly, just a breath.  
  
Curt drummed his fingers on his knee, one slow roll. "She's very pretty. I bet she's very photogenic."  
  
Peter let out a small laugh, almost under his breath, as he looked down at the floor again. "Yeah, she's- Yeah. She's great," this said with a series of hard nods, head bobbing.  
  
"Do you like her, Peter?"  
  
His brown eyes were very wide as he thought about it. Probably thought about how obvious it was. "Um."  
  
Curt tapped a finger to the side of his nose, and said with a smile, "Don't worry, that'll stay between us. Won't tell a soul."  
  
Barely managing to rub a hand against the back of his neck before Peter began to gush, "She's just so- she's so _Gwen_. Pretty, and smart. So smart, you know how smart she is. She's top of our class."  
  
"She is indeed. Do you take a lot of pictures of her?"  
  
Another of those shrugs, but looser. Easier. "Maybe."  
  
"What do you do with them all?"  
  
A touch sullen this time. "Nothing. Save them, I guess."  
  
"Do you look at them?"  
  
"...Sometimes," he said, sullenness disappearing in the face of embarrassment. The mainstay of the teenage experience. Angst and mortification and hunger. Different kinds of hunger.  
  
Like: "With your hand down your pants, correct?"  
  
Peter's head snapped up at that, and now Curt had his full and unwavering attention, those cartoonishly large eyes fixed on his face. "Sir?"  
  
Curt said nothing, letting the moment drag on, calm. Patient. His instincts hadn't failed him in almost twenty years, and he needed good instincts, he was a scientist after all-  
  
There. Like ice melting, so slow unless you knew what to look for. A blush, just a touch, shading Peter's cheeks, different from before. Curt almost bit his cheek at the sight of it, to keep from saying anything.  
  
Then Peter licked his lip, a quick swipe of pink tongue over that ridiculously full bottom lip. "Y-yes."  
  
"You think about Miss Stacy often? When you... touch yourself?" He didn't move; the moment felt too fragile.  
  
Peter blinked, and it appeared to happen in slow-motion, that lazy drag of long eyelashes making Curt want to fist his hand on his knee until his knuckles cracked. "Yeah." That one word, so softly uttered, sounded as sweet to Curt as when Peter, an unknown in the crowd, had repeated all of Curt's simplest theories back to him. Free of the mockery he'd heard from his peers, Curt knew then that they had no peers besides, perhaps, each other. Not that Peter had known it yet.  
  
"I'd like to see that," he said, voice pitched low so Peter leaned minutely forward to catch it. The words reassuring, the way you speak to a wild animal you don't want to startle.  
  
And Peter was a wild animal, or good as. He was a teenager, after all, and deer-like, trapped by something he saw in Curt's face. Those big Bambi eyes, that long smooth neck, those clean limbs, awkward but only because he was unused to them still, like a fawn yet to find its feet. Capable only of a random, almost accidental sort of grace.  
  
Curt wondered if maybe, maybe this time he'd pushed his luck a step too far, snapped a branch and Peter would bolt, but it didn't happen. Instead the boy sat frozen, staring, and Curt had leaned forward at some point and had to fight not to lean back, to keep from moving at all.  
  
"Okay." Soft as before, as the leather covering the couch, and Curt didn't dare break eye contact with Peter. Let the boy remain hypnotized by whatever he saw in his face, he thought. His eyes, greedy, wanted to roam over Peter's face, his body; he imagined seeing in his periphery the boy's pulse thumping away in his neck. Hard and fast.  
  
"I'd like to watch you. I'd like to hear what you think about. You can tell me, Peter," he said, pulling the trap tighter. "You can tell me anything. What do you like about her?"  
  
"Her smile," Peter replied, unthinking. He swallowed thickly, still staring at Curt as he shifted unconsciously on the couch.  
  
Forcing himself to relax, Curt sat back in the chair, struggling to radiate calm acceptance and not the starving excitement he truly felt. He wanted to feel the thump of Peter's heart under his hand as badly as he'd ever wanted his computers to return a good result. "What else? Tell me. You can tell me."  
  
"Her laugh. Her eyes," Peter said, with another lazy blink. He was staring at Curt but not seeing him now, not seeing the trap anymore, the predator. "Her lips."  
  
"What else," Curt whispered.  
  
Peter rubbed one hand slowly up and down his thigh, almost like he was scratching an itch. "Her mouth." He shifted back on the couch, unconsciously mimicking Curt's own relaxed posture, but awkward. Always awkward. Oversized feet sliding over the floor like he didn't know what to do with them even as he settled both hands on his thighs, slightly spread. "She has such white teeth, they're perfect. Her mouth is perfect. When she smiles, or frowns. She used to wear cherry lipgloss all the time in tenth grade. Her lips were always red."

Curt watched one foot slide back, a little under the couch, the other sliding forward even as Peter's right hand slid up his thigh. "What else," he breathed, careful not to move.  
  
"Her shoulders. She-she has freckles all along the back of her shoulders. I think about... kissing them. Her skin. She has the greatest skin. Every September she has a perfect tan, and freckles. I think about... touching them. With my hands."

And there, what Curt had been waiting for all along: the rasp of a zipper. He wanted to lean forward into Peter's space, wanted that hand to be his own resting on Peter's stomach for a moment before sliding forward, down. His speed was torture to Curt, but Curt could wait. He was patient. He had decades of experience in waiting for results.  
  
"She smells like strawberries sometimes. She changed body washes, I think. I think she'd taste like them," Peter murmured, sliding his hand down, under the waistband of his boxers. Curt watched the blue-and-white-striped cotton shift and said nothing, waiting. Waiting.  
  
Peter's breath hitched. "I think about touching her. Her legs. She wears these knee high boots with socks. I-I think about pulling them off, rolling them down with my teeth." His gasp was the lightest thing in the universe. "I think about kissing her knees. Her thighs. Touching them. Wrapping them around my waist, a-around my neck, over my shoulders," and Curt didn't breathe when Peter pulled his hand out off his boxers. Then Peter licked a long stripe down his palm and Curt's exhalation rattled out him at the sight of him drawing his dick out through the slit of his boxers. Heavy-lidded eyes staring past Curt, seeing something else as he fisted his cock properly for the first time. "Her on top of me," Peter hissed, his hand working slowly, thumbing the head.  
  
"Do you think about fucking her, Mr. Parker?" Calm. Calm as he could be, praying Peter wouldn't notice the way his voice was so unsteady around the syllables of his name.  
  
Peter worried his lip, then nodded, hand still moving. The distinct sound of skin-on-skin was impossible to ignore when Peter wasn't talking. "Y-yes. I think about- ah! Being in her- in her mouth. I think about her... sucking my dick. Sometimes I- in class, I can't- I can't focus, and I sit behind her in class, and I can't  _focus_ , I have to leave, and I go to the bathroom and I jerk off, thinking about her blowing me," he said, the innocently dirty lot of it tumbling out of him all at once, and his eyes squeezed shut like it pained him. His hand twisted tight over the head of his dick, pink and wet, before sliding back down to fist his cock, the end poking over the curl of fingers.

Curt could see the precome leaking as easily as he could see the bright red blush that stained Peter's cheeks, and he couldn't decide which he liked more. "Do you think about her cunt, Peter?"  
  
A moan, throaty, and Curt had to close his own eyes at the sound, hand fisting the material at his knee. "Yes. Yes." That slippery wet slap of noise, faster now. It seemed louder to Curt when he had his eyes closed. "Being inside her, how tight- how tight she'd be, how wet. If she's a v-a virgin, like me," Peter moaned, eyes rolling back briefly as his head tipped back slightly to rest against the couch. He slid lower in his seat, hips coming further forward as his hand sped up. "On top of me, riding me, and what she'd do to me when-" He gasped, hips jerking.  
  
"When what?" Curt prompted when Peter bit his lip hard and didn't continue.  
  
"When she- oh," he gasped. "When I- Oh God." His teeth bit into his already-swollen bottom lip, deep, and his eyebrows knit as he shook his head once, hard, in denial.  
  
"Tell me, Peter. I want you to-"  
  
"When she's on top of me, holding me down," Peter said, voice cracking as he clenched he stared at Curt helplessly. "I'm inside her and I can't help it and I come too soon, I always come too soon and oh  _fuck_ , I can't help it.  _God_ , and what she  _does_  to me, how she  _hurts me for it_ -"

Curt didn't know what possessed him to do it, what made him lean forward and press his hand, his only hand, to Peter's chest, but he did. He pressed it to the boy's chest, hard, and pushed him back against the couch cushions, held him down, and he felt Peter's breath catch at the pressure. Watched the boy's eyes roll back in his head as he came all over his fist, mouth going slack. Curt looked down, had to see how Peter squeezed his hand, vice-like, around his cock, milking the come out of it. A near-silent affair but for the strangled-sounding moan toward the end, when there was nothing left, and Curt looked up at the sound, eyes dragging up along the long length of Peter's body to where his hand, his own good left hand continued to press down on Peter's chest. Fingers splayed, his thumb and finger shaping the V of the boy's throat where it fed into his collarbone.

Peter was staring up at him, huge brown eyes glazed, eyelids heavy. He looked like he was fighting to keep them open, and even as Curt watched they slipped down, down, closed. Then Peter's eyes rolled beneath the lids and they were open again and he was panting, trying to catch his breath unsuccessfully as Curt crushed him down into the couch.  
  
Curt released him and staggered back, ignoring the chair that brushed the back of his knees in favor of watching as Peter listed to the left and collapsed, boneless, onto his side. Panting, still staring at Curt silently.  
  
Curt dropped to his knees, watching him. "I want to see it. I want to see  _you_. Again," he said, and slid his hand possessively over Peter's still-exposed dick, soft now but sticky with come. It smeared over his fingers as Peter let out a tiny moan, and Curt loved it. Loved the sight of that swollen open mouth and those flushed cheeks, his whole face gone soft and shining, his mussed hair curling around his ear. He pushed his fingers into Peter's mouth; his breath caught at the feel of wet tongue slipping between the two digits, the furnace-like wetness. Curt rubbed his fingers against Peter's tongue and gasped at abrupt suction, the sight of Peter's cheeks hollowing as he lay on the couch, head tilted at what had to be an uncomfortable angle.  
  
When Curt pulled his fingers from Peter's mouth, it was with an obscene pop. The last vestiges of patience deserted him at the sound, and he swiped his fingers again over the sticky head of Peter's cock. Just enough to taste.

"Ah, please, don't," Peter said as he fondled him. Whimpered, really, the noise an unlooked-for bonus.

"Shh." Just enough to taste, and he did. His glasses had slid forward down his nose, but he didn't bother to push them back up. Not when he was busy sucking the come from his fingers and drinking in the sight of Peter Parker, rung out and sweaty, lying on his couch. Limbs tangled every which way, breaths still stuttering in and out of his thin chest.

Peter stared at Curt, watched him lick his fingers clean with eyes still glassy and lips still parted. Still so pink.

Curt wanted to devour him.

"Don't worry, Mr. Parker," he said, nudging his glasses back up over the bridge of his nose before adjusting his own hard cock in his pants. "There's still time to sort out your extracurriculars."  
  
Peter groaned and pushed his face into the couch cushion.

**Author's Note:**

> I should be shot for that summary alone. "Unload"? UGH.
> 
> I feel I should mention that this is SUPER old. Over five years old, actually. But since I haven't posted anything in ages because I'm busy slaving away over one long fic no one will ever care about, and I started feeling guilty about only posting one thing this year..... yeah. Time to go through the back catalogue of things I never posted because I was 2 shy 2 live!!
> 
> Of course the first thing I post is, arguably, the worst drawerfic I've ever written. :'D


End file.
